Bubba and the Missing Woman

by Bevill, C. L.

  Only God knew when Willodean would reappear, Miz Demetrice thought calmly.

  She went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Miz Adelia had vanished, but Miz Demetrice knew that the housekeeper was coordinating with her cousin Ralph about the pot patch down by Sturgis Creek. Ralph was trying to save his bacon by covering up all clues to his horticultural side-business. Because it was winter, there wasn’t a crop presently growing, but the evidence was strewn over a half acre of creek-fed bottomland. Unfortunately for Ralph, there wasn’t a bit of equipment that didn’t have his fingerprints all over it or the Cedarbloom name stenciled across the back. And Ralph couldn’t very well claim that all that farming equipment had been recently stolen.

  Aunt Caressa wandered in and helped herself to the coffee. “Well, dearest,” she said to Miz Demetrice, “your holidays surely are exciting. It hasn’t been this interesting since you put an Arizona Bark scorpion down Elgin’s pants that one Christmas Eve.”

  “Good times,” Miz Demetrice murmured.

  “It should be an interesting newsletter this year,” Aunt Caressa remarked.

  “Murderers, evildoers, greedy relatives, and missing folks, oh my,” Miz Demetrice said. “And I went to jail, too.” She considered. “Although it was far from the first time. That jail needs a fresh coat of paint and a jailor who can smile just a mite.” She considered again. “But Bubba has to have the all-time Snoddy record for being in and out of jails during a calendar year.”

  They sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window facing the wide side yard. Brownie had re-emerged from his self-imposed isolation and chased something through the yard. “I believe that boy saved our lives,” Aunt Caressa said with amazement.

  Miz Demetrice sighed as she looked at Brownie. “With a stun gun? Really?”

  Aunt Caressa held her hands in the air two feet apart in a demonstration of size. “That woman’s handgun was this big. The bullets would have made holes the size of grapefruits.”

  “That’s a big gun,” Miz Demetrice admitted. She had several weapons around the house to include shotguns, rifles, pistols, and muzzle loaders. There were a few knives, including a bayonet from WWII and a switchblade that had been acquired during a particularly memorable poker game in San Francisco. However, she didn’t have a handgun that was as large as Aunt Caressa indicated.

  “What about this missing gal?” Aunt Caressa asked as she raised her cup to her lips and then sipped with a pinky held out.

  “The sheriff’s deputy,” Miz Demetrice looked out the window. Brownie had an axe and attempted to run while holding it over his head. He was also whooping like a Visigoth in full-frontal attack. She would have been alarmed, but she didn’t see anything else that was warm-blooded in his immediate vicinity.

  “That’s the one that Bubba is sweet upon,” Aunt Caressa said sadly.

  “Indeed,” Miz Demetrice agreed. “The hounds lost her scent at the freeway. Girl could be halfway across these lesser 48 states by now. My God, she could be north of the Mason-Dixon Line.”

  Aunt Caressa frowned. Being north of the Mason-Dixon Line could be a fate worse than death. “Folks don’t just kidnap sheriff’s deputies.”

  “Someone did,” Miz Demetrice said.

  “Bubba shore likes that gal,” Aunt Caressa said wistfully.

  “Bubba said something about Willodean having a stalker,” Miz Demetrice said.

  “A stalker?” Aunt Caressa repeated as if she was unfamiliar with the word.

  “You know, someone who follows you around, sends you cards, dead flowers, and turns up unwanted,” Miz Demetrice said.

  “Oh, you mean kind of a like a Republican,” Aunt Caressa concluded.

  Miz Demetrice smiled grimly. “This fella is someone who wanted Willodean, and Willodean didn’t want him. Followed her to Pegramville.”

  The two older women considered their coffees for a long moment, and Aunt Caressa said, “I reckon Miss Willodean should have shot him then.” She stirred the coffee although it was well stirred already. “Seeing as how she carries around a gun and all.”

  “That would have been ideal,” Miz Demetrice agreed. “But alas.”

  “Should have shot him and drug him halfway inside the doorway,” Aunt Caressa said firmly. “That’s a legal defense in Texas.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” Miz Demetrice affirmed. One never knew when an absolute standard would come into play. Especially of late, with dead bodies seeming to appear everywhere. It was kind of like bluebonnets in the spring on the sides of the highways, except the bodies didn’t look pretty, and they didn’t smell good neither.

  Please, Lord, she prayed silently, not one more. Not Willodean.

  •

  Bubba woke up late. It was dark outside and in. A weight rested across his stomach, and there was a whining canine complaint as Bubba moved. Aching muscles protested. It didn’t seem like he had done much the previous day and night, but patently he had exerted himself more than he’d thought. There was a brief moment of forgetfulness. Nothing was in his head, and it felt relaxing and redeeming.

  Then he remembered, and he wasn’t relaxed anymore and nothing had been redeemed.

  Willodean. Willodean was gone. And he’d slept the day away like a damned fool. He cast a glance at his alarm clock and saw that it was past midnight. Willodean had been missing for coming up on forty-eight hours, and even a Luddite like Bubba had heard that if the police didn’t find a missing person within forty-eight hours, they were unlikely to find that person at all.

  Or did that saying only pertain to finding a murderer?

  Bubba shook his head. He didn’t want to think about murderers and Willodean Gray in the same sentence. That was unbearable. He took a breath and took a moment to scratch Precious as she wallowed on his bed. The dog was happy to take up all the warmth that her master had vacated.

  He spent a little time in the bathroom and got dressed. He put on a warm shirt and heavy blue jeans. He put on a thick pair of socks and covered them with the most comfortable work boots that he had. He found his largest flashlight; it was a Maglite that held four D batteries. He retrieved a coat, suspecting he was going to be outside quite a bit.

  Because his brain was no longer half dead with fatigue, it occurred to him that Lew Robson’s hounds could have gotten an older scent from Willodean. She drove that road every day, and she had been down it the same day and the night before. He hadn’t thought of it when Lew’s hounds were tracking, but it hadn’t rained for two weeks and the dryness could preserve the scents.

  Willodean could still be in the forest or the fields. If Sheriff John hadn’t searched there yet, then Bubba would. Every damnable inch by himself if he had to, in the middle of the night and in the cold, too. “Precious,” he said to his dog, “come on, girl. We’ve got places to go and things to look at.” Precious’s head perked right up.

  Miz Demetrice waited downstairs. She had a coat on, as well, and she was holding a spotlight. She also held out a thermos of coffee for him. Her expression was grim as she prepared to face his wrath at her actions.

  “Folks have been searching all day,” she said. “And you needed the sleep.”

  Bubba took the coffee. She reached into a pocket and handed him an energy bar. His lips twitched as he realized how prepared his mother was.

  “I know, Ma,” he finally said, holding back the minute bit of anger he felt at the fact that she had deliberately turned off his alarm. “You coming with us?”

  “Of course, boy,” Miz Demetrice looked at him incredulously. “Willodean’s my friend. And Snoddys look after their friends.”

  •

  The wrecked SUV was gone. It had been towed away by the sheriff’s department. Spotlights set up by the police illuminated the scene. Remnants of yellow tape fluttered in a cool night breeze. Two county cars were parked at the scene, and one news van reposed at the closest spot that it could without the occupants being arrested for interference. Two other civilian cars were park
ed nearby.

  Bubba grimaced. Miz Demetrice said an ugly word. Precious woofed softly. She didn’t know what was going on, but she was involved and that meant everything was all gravy.

  “That’s her family?” Miz Demetrice said.

  One of Willodean’s sisters stood by the yellow caution tape and watched Bubba pull up in the old, green Chevy truck. The other sister was absent. She was probably staying at a local motel with her eight-year-old would-be police detective. “That gal over there is one of her sisters,” Bubba said.

  Bubba climbed out and allowed Precious to follow. He grabbed the Maglite and observed Willodean’s sister, Hattie, straighten as she recognized him.

  Two deputies gazed at Bubba without much change in their expressions. There was a generator rumbling nearby, and three spotlights still operated, leaving yellow pools of light spilling over the asphalt and the withered winter grasses on the sides of the road. One of the deputies glanced at a map that was taped to a nearby table. He saw that another table still held lukewarm coffee and a half-dozen, plastic-wrapped sandwiches.

  One of the deputies was Steve Simms. Simms was someone who Bubba had dealt with in the past. The man thought a lot about his badge and liked to give out speeding tickets at a certain blind spot just outside Pegramville. He favored tourists with out-of-state plates. Bubba thought Simms must be itching with a need to ticket out-of-towners. Since there was a cluster of folks from all over who had come to see what happened when a murderer was on the loose, Simms was missing out on the revenue.

  Once the word had leaked out about the Christmas Killer and the odd manner in which Steve Killebrew and Beatrice Smothermon had been murdered, the media poured in.

  The attempt on Sheriff John had added fuel to the flames. Now a beautiful sheriff’s deputy was missing. Non-Pegramville residents were abounding, and poor Simms was stuck here without access to a radar gun and a fresh pad of tickets.

  “Bubba,” Simms said warily, “you ain’t supposed to be here.”

  Bubba didn’t have an answer for that. So he said instead, “Just tell me where they haven’t searched yet, Simms.”

  Simms made an agitated noise. He didn’t like Bubba. Bubba had a perverse tendency to be arrested, even if most of the time it turned out that he hadn’t done anything wrong. And then there was Willodean Gray and the fact that she was connected to Bubba. No one knew what had happened to her, and although Simms didn’t think that Bubba Snoddy would do anything bad to Willodean, he couldn’t completely discount the other man.

  Bubba gestured to the table with the map. Hattie moved closer, deftly avoiding the yellow tape. Miz Demetrice and Precious drifted in for prime eavesdropping range. Precious spared a brief growl for Simms.

  Simms glared at the dog and then pointed to the map. “These grids have been searched. Look, you can start over here by Sturgis Creek, but officers will be going behind you.”

  That was a benign warning. Don’t mess with evidence. Don’t try to hide anything. We’re watching you.

  Bubba didn’t care much. There was a reason to search, and this was the second night that Willodean would have spent out in the cold, if indeed she was out here. He spared a glance at his mother. “You up for this, Ma?”

  “I could do a little walking through the woods,” Miz Demetrice allowed. She held up the spotlight. “Maybe we could find…something.” She didn’t know what words to use. She wanted to find Willodean alive as much as Bubba did, but as the hours had crawled past, hope was fading fast.

  Hattie said, “My parents are in these segments.” She pointed.

  “I assume your ma still has a gun,” Bubba said shortly. He sighed, “Ma, this is Hattie Gray. She’s Willodean’s older sister. Miz Gray, this is my mother, Demetrice Snoddy. She’s right fond of Willodean and wants to help in any way she can.”

  Hattie shook Miz Demetrice’s hand. “Wills talks about you, Miz Demetrice. She said you’re a real trip.”

  Bubba cleared his throat. “I’m going, Ma. You need to stay with me or stay here. I cain’t be looking for you lost in the woods, too.”

  “He’s a tad cranky,” Miz Demetrice said to Hattie as Bubba turned away.

  •

  Bubba, Miz Demetrice, and Precious discovered a disintegrating pile of construction junk dumped in the forest just off the farm road. They found a rusting 1963 ½ Ford Galaxie with an armadillo living in it. There was a farmhouse that was leaning against two trees with a floor that had completely rotted away. Bubba pointed out where Ralph Cedarbloom’s pot patch had been to his mother, although it was obvious that something had been there. The area had been utterly cleaned out. There wasn’t anything left and someone had raked the earth with a brush hog just to be on the safe side.

  “The po-lice are going to wonder about this,” Miz Demetrice sighed.

  “They’ll figure it out,” Bubba snapped.

  They walked and searched until well after noon. Bubba recognized that Miz Demetrice was beyond dog-tired and took her back to the mansion. He returned and found dozens of Pegramville residents ready to search for Willodean Gray.

  •

  Hours later, every grid had been checked. The Grays had collapsed in their cars. Hattie rested her head on Anora’s shoulder. Janie stared out at the woods; her little face was full of desolation. Celestine was grimly silent. Evan’s face was shattered.

  Bubba stood alone beside the map staring at it. Every grid square had been crossed out. Sheriff John was having a powwow with Big Joe, a state trooper, and the man Bubba thought might be a Fed.

  Precious rolled in the dead grass on the side of the road and made noises that indicated she was hungry.

  When Sheriff John turned away from the other men, Bubba was waiting. “Bubba,” Sheriff John said tiredly. He scratched at the bandage at his throat, and his voice sounded hoarser than ever. Bubba decided that the older man hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep in the previous two days.

  “What do you know about her stalker?” Bubba asked.

  Sheriff John snorted. “Ain’t much to tell,” he said. But Bubba knew the older man was lying.

  “I kin just ask her mama,” Bubba threatened.

  Sheriff John’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you pour salt on it, too, I reckon?”

  “Look, John,” Bubba said as he shrugged his weary shoulders, “I figure that we cain’t find Willodean. But maybe we can find the man who took her.”

  “Leave it to the po-lice,” Sheriff John advised. “We’re working on it.” He studied Bubba’s face and added, “Working damned hard, too.”

  Bubba watched Sheriff John walk away. He tamped down the fury he felt. Fury wasn’t going to do Willodean an ounce of next-to-nothing. He took a moment to throw a sandwich to Precious. Precious jumped on the sandwich and immediately stripped the roast beef from the bread via the swallowing-whole method.

  “What do I know?” Bubba muttered. Some fella had made Willodean unhappy. She had been so unhappy that she’d upped and moved to Pegramville. She didn’t seem predominantly unhappy in Pegram County. She’d been, no strike that, she is interested in me. But she’s been jumpy. Why? Because this fella popped up again?

  Precious devoured the cheese with heartfelt intensity. Then she gulped down the bread. She burped contentedly and then farted. Finally, the dog looked around and pretended that none of that had actually happened.

  Because she got letters from this guy. Letters. Bubba’s thoughts came back to visiting her home for a piece of her clothing. There had been mail in her box. There was more mail on her coffee table.

  Bubba knew what he was going to do, and it didn’t involve banging his head against the nearest, convenient brick wall.

  Chapter Seven

  Bubba Makes a Tremendous Decision

  Saturday, December 31st

  Bubba approached Willodean’s duplex again. Dread churned massive holes in his intestines. If the truth be told, he didn’t want to read the letters that she’d received. In fact, he thought it was
probable that the letters were no longer at her place. She could have taken them to work. After all, she had told Sheriff John about them. Wouldn’t the police want to keep the letters as some kind of record of a crime?

  An errant thought gave him a pause. Did Willodean’s family know about the stalker? Celestine was a Dallas Police Department Officer. He’d seen the sergeant’s stripes on her shoulder. One of the daughters, Anora, let her daughter hang out around the precinct house too much, so she was likely one, too. The other daughter talked in a similar manner and was right handy with the large gun that she’d pointed at Bubba. That was indicative of Hattie being on the force, as well. Was the whole family PD?

  Not Evan Gray. Not eight-year-old Janie. Well, he amended silently, not yet for the kid.

  Bubba sighed and set his thoughts back to where they needed to be. Willodean hadn’t talked about her family much. She had discussed them with Miz Demetrice, but they’d had a little more time for conversation while playing excessive hands of Texas Hold ‘Em.

  Not so much conversation for Bubba. He had dragged his heels, thinking about his first love, his ex-fiancée, Melissa Dearman nee Connor. She hadn’t been a good choice seeing as how she had slept with their commanding officer and then later married him. Neither had the woman he dated before Willodean had come around. Lurlene Grady, aka Donna Hyatt, had set Bubba up for Melissa’s murder. Choosing women wasn’t Bubba’s strong suit, and the awareness had made him as skittish as a virgin in a prison rodeo. Consequently, he’d intentionally been slow about courting Willodean Gray.

  The previous week had upped his schedule. Willodean had shown in several ways how much she cared for him, the least of which had been the brain-numbing kiss at the cemetery.

  Kisses, Bubba thought with a teensy-tiny ray of something called fondness. It gave him a brief warm feeling that was like a beam of light burst forth from the heavens. Not just one.